My thanks also to gonz0 (Horatio), and the members of the crew, kiyoti (Ali'Hussein), Mr. Duncan (Rain), Thinkpig (Raheem), Muse (Zaara), and Darugith (Redara).
Also, a shout out to long dead poet Sylvia Plath, who is one of my inspirations while playing Aliyah and from whom I took the title of this chapter. That would probably horrify Ms. Plath, but c'est la vie. Those who look deep enough will see the connection. Oh, note to those who've heard Aliyah quote A Lesson in Vengeance in game; when Aliyah recites the poem, there are several deliberate deviations from the original text to make the poem fit Faerun. Aliyah's interpretation of the poem, however, is IC - as she says, she is often wrong.
Finally, thanks to ALFA for these first few weeks. Its been great fun.
EDIT: Forgot an acknowledgement - to Calico Jack, Ann Bonney and Mary Read - the inspiration for Aliyah's time at sea. Gotta love pirates.
**********************
Where are you, me beloved?
Oh, how great is Love!
And how little am I!
- Khalil Gibran, A Lover’s Call XXVII
***********
A Lesson in Vengeance
“I have not changed.” Nisha said. Nisha and Aliyah had been kissing in one of the rooms upstairs at the Blade & Stars. It had been half-a-month since their break-up, but here they were kissing again. Aliyah thought back on what had brought them to this moment; Aliyah had been talking to a beautiful elf named Kyrinil in the common room of the Blade & Stars. Kyrinil was so stunningly beautiful that Aliyah had a hard time believing the elf was real at first. She looked like a painting or sculpture of an elven goddess, not like a real person. Her skin was dark, like Nisha’s, and her eyes were a deep, rich brown, but her hair was a shimmering silver-white. Though Kyrinil was very short, she appeared to be about the same age as Aliyah, although an elf who looked 19 years old to a human could easily be 50 years old or older.
The two had talked about what happened along the Way of the Lion. Aliyah told Kyrinil about getting shot in the back and then having to escape and evade the Zhents on her own. Kyrinil was horrified that the crew would just leave Aliyah there to die. She urged Aliyah to leave the crew and work with others.
Aliyah disagreed, but she did not say as much to Kyrinil. Although they had left her, Aliyah thought the crew did the right thing on the Way of the Lion. If the crew had stayed, if they had rallied around Aliyah to try and save her, then they all would have died in the ambush. Even Aliyah. While the shot through the back was not instantly fatal, Aliyah only had the time to recover and get that healing potion down her throat because the Zhents ran off to chase the rest of the crew. If they had made a stand, the heads of all four of them would be on pikes at a Zhent camp right now. Aliyah did not know how to explain this to Kyrinil, so she just kept quiet.
Nisha was also in the Blade, sitting at a nearby table with Raheem. When Aliyah finally left her conversation with Kyrinil and joined her fellow Calishites at their table, Nisha was particularly flirtatious. She even suggested that instead of waiting for something to happen, Aliyah should just take charge and make it happen. Aliyah took the bait and asked Nisha to come upstairs with her. Once alone in one of the Blade’s rooms, Aliyah had kissed Nisha and Nisha had kissed her back at first, but then Nisha pulled away.
“I have not changed.” Nisha said. Aliyah stared into Nisha’s beautiful dark eyes and found she was lost in more ways than one. She had no idea how to deal with Nisha at this point, how to talk to her, how to love her, how to let her go, or how to even be around her.
They talked for another hour about this non-relationship relationship they were having. Aliyah wanted to know where they were going, if anywhere. Although Nisha had left Aliyah, Nisha had also teased and flirted with her since the break-up. Was Nisha just toying with Aliyah out of perverse cruelty? Or did she actually care about Aliyah even though they were not together any longer? Aliyah suspected the latter, but was uncertain. She had been prepared to just let the whole thing go, but then came the night when Nisha got her alone and kissed up her thigh, and there were other kisses after that. Now Aliyah wanted to know whether they were going to try again or not.
“I don’t have answers for you.” Nisha said repeatedly. Of course, that was an answer. It meant, I am not going to make any decision right now.
They stopped talking and Nisha kissed Aliyah. The kiss grew passionate. Then, without warning, the kiss was over and Nisha was walking out the door. Again.
Anger coursed through Aliyah. If Nisha wanted this to be over, all she had to do was nothing – nothing at all. No kisses, no flirting and it would all pass like water under a bridge. Aliyah would let her go. That had been the agreement from the start. In fact, Aliyah had previously suggested that Nisha leave the crew; Nisha was an artist, and a beautiful one at that. Her music was special, and Aliyah did not believe that Nisha should be down in the mud and blood with the likes of Rain, Ali’Hussein and Aliyah. Killers were easy to come by – Faerun was full of them – but true artists were rare. Nisha had replied that she was exactly where she wanted to be.
Since the breakup, however, Nisha kept flirting with Aliyah, kissing her and teasing her, and generally driving Aliyah crazy.
Why? Was it Revenge? Jealousy? It certainly seemed that way now.
Aliyah went downstairs. Nisha was gone, but Aliyah found Kyrinil in the tavern. They talked, this time about Nisha and relationships in general. They discovered that each had far less experience with love and lust than the other had thought. Kyrinil said she had never been with another woman before, and only two men. Aliyah, on the other hand, had only been with one man and two women.
They kissed. It was soft, wonderful and exciting and it began to grow passionate. Kyrinil admitted it would be easy to rush up to a room and give into the lust, but she wanted to go slow. She had never been with a woman before, and was just coming out of a relationship. Aliyah, still confused by Nisha’s antics and hopeful that Nisha might actually want Aliyah, agreed that slow was better.
The next night the two women met once more in the Blade and again they kissed, but nothing more. There were others around and the timing had been wrong. Still, there was a spark betweeen them. That spark, however, was soon to be doused in the warm waters of the Baldur’s Gate bath house.
******************
“How is she?” The dancer asked the hooded man.
“Layla? As with all things, there is good and there is bad.” The hooded man replied.
“Tell me the good first.”
“Physically, she is perfect. Tall and strong for a 13-year old girl, and as agile as anyone I’ve ever seen of her age. Truly gifted in that regard. She is also quite smart, though her classical education has suffered because of her time at sea. Her reading and writing are excellent, but her arithmetic is barely passable and she knows almost nothing of history, theology or philosophy. On the other hand, she knows geography very well and she can tie knots better than any other student I’ve ever had. Socially, she is isolated. Her family has turned their back on her and her friends and acquaintances believe she is dead; a belief that will not easily be dispelled because it is most convenient for them. “
“And the bad?”
The hooded man sighed, an unusual thing for him. The girl had such promise. “The bad is in two parts. There are the minor difficulties, and then there is the major difficulty. The minor difficulties are that she is a day-dreamer. She has a love of poetry, especially the romantic ones, like the virgin-love poems. These seem to inform her knowledge of adult relationships, which is foolish to say the least. She also has deep seated insecurities, probably arising from her family’s rejection of her and a lifetime fearing her grand-father. She can run across the top of a narrow wall twenty feet off the ground without a shred of fear, but in unfamiliar social situations, she crawls into a shell of insecurity. In addition, she hates wizards. I would surmise this is the unintended consequence of her grand-father’s iron hand.”
The hooded man paused for a second as he watched Layla across the room. The young girl was working with an older student on footwork. Though the older student was more practiced, it was clear Layla had more natural ability. When the older student missed a step, Layla berated him, which caused an argument to erupt. The hooded man’s assistant rushed forward, quelling the row with merciless blows from his leather strap upon both children.
“She is also quite mercurial. One day she is as disciplined as the most elite amlakkar, doing whatever I say, when I say it. The next day she is a rebellious and insolent child, refusing to do even that which is in her own self-interest simply out of spite. When her eyes open after sleep, I never know which person awakens.”
“If these minor difficulties are truly minor, then they are of no real concern of mine. You should be able to deal with them.”
“As you say, mistress.”
“Then tell me of this major difficulty.” The dancer commanded.
“The girl has a conscience.” Said the hooded man matter-of-factly.
The dancer watched Layla practice her footwork. The girl was 13 and a new student, yet she moved with the agility of one born to dance with blades. That agility, combined with her anger and the fact that she had nowhere else to go made her perfect. The difficulties would have to be overcome.
“Well, you are the assassin, kill it.” The dancer said finally.
The hooded man drew his dagger and stepped towards Layla, but the dancer put a hand on his shoulder stopping him.
“Not the girl, you fool,” said the dancer, “the conscience.”
********************
“I mean I'd like to know what they say, and what they mean to you.” Horatio said to Aliyah. He was talking about the tattoos that covered her body. Horatio, Aliyah and Nisha were all sitting in the warm waters of a private bath at the Baldur’s Gate bath-house. The crew had returned from a particularly profitable job in Nashkel, made all the more profitable after Aliyah stole an enchanted cloak worth twice what the job had paid. Flush with coin, happy, exhausted and filthy, Aliyah headed to the baths where she found Nisha and Horatio already sharing a heated pool. Aliyah quickly got naked, save for her silver-belly chain and its little pendant, and her boots – if one had to run, boots were critical. She’d wash her feet later, while she was alone. Here, in a public bath? Her boots stayed on.
With one hand carrying bottle of wine and the other hand carrying her killing-knife, she waded into the steaming hot water with a smile.
Once naked it was easy to see that Aliyah was covered in ink, from collar-bone to shins, from shoulder to fingers, with only her face clear. Almost all of the tattoos were lines of Thorass script, written in the Alzhedo language, wrapping around her torso and limbs. Only her forearms and hands were different. The forearms and hands were decorated in an intricate floral design, the kind usually done with Henna, but in Aliyah’s case, they were permanent. The one piece that stood out from the others was a crude, heavy tattoo of wyvern silhouette on her right forearm, shadowing over the intricate floral design like the monster it was.
“Different stories, different poems, different meanings.” Aliyah said, not really wanting to get into it. “I got them while on the B*tch's Due.” That was almost true. “Most anyway.” There, that was true enough. She thought.
“Poetry and stories are all about interpretations, directed by the author, but in cooperation, concert with the reader, or the listener. You are a part of it, not just the writer. Did you choose what is drawn on you?”
“Some of it.” She answered, and then decided that was not entirely true. ”Most of it, not all.” She corrected herself.
“How was the rest decided?” Horatio asked.
Aliyah rose out of the water and leaned against the wall of the bath. “Its a long story.” Nisha was watching her, smiling, but Aliyah did not want to go down this path. Horatio, however, was insistent. He locked eyes with Aliyah.
“I'd be curious to know that story.” He said intently.
Tell them as much truth as you can, but leave out the important part. She told herself.
“There is a poem or story, down the middle of my back.” Aliyah said after a moment’s pause. “I don’t know what it is, and I don’t want to know. It was put there by . . . some people.” You know who put it there, and why, who they put it there for. One is dead now, but the wizard still lives. “There is a reason, but its better you not know the reason, and better that I don't know what is written there.”
“I say the body the stories are on is much better to look at anyway.” Nisha purred.
Here she goes again. Aliyah thought. If she doesn’t want me, why in the nine-hells is she flirting with me?
“These floral designs,” Aliyah said, holding up her forearms, “are based on traditional henna tattoos, but done in permanent ink. And this,” she pointed to the wyvern with its wings outstretched, cutting across the designs on her right forearm, “this is the sign of the Erare sabban.”
Nisha and Horatio joked around a bit. Aliyah was happy to let the conversation move to another topic. She drank more wine as they chatted, but Horatio’s attention eventually returned to the script tattoos running across almost every inch of Aliyah’s skin. He asked what they said.
“Most are traditional love poems or love stories.” Aliyah explained. That was true enough, except for the story of Aliyah the Knife tattooed over her left shoulder blade. That was a story of revenge and escape.
“Traditional of your culture?” Horatio asked. “I'd be interested in learning more, even with your clothes on.”
“Classic old Calishite love poems.” Aliyah said with a nod. “I like poetry, and there was a guy on the ship who did tattoos. I was young and drunk and he wanted to tattoo me, but I didn't want a stupid ship tattoo or something like that, so I had him do a story on me. And then, I wanted more. He was really good. And although it was painful, it was a fun way to spend time aboard ship when we were becalmed.” Aliyah smiled at the memory. “Layout on the deck, all naked, getting tattooed. Driving the boys kind of crazy. It was fun.”
“And I'm sure that your being naked was required for tattooing your forearms.” Horatio suggested with a grin.
“I didn't choose the forearm tattoos.” She admitted. “They have to do with what is on my back.” Why in the hell did you bring that up again? Stupid b*tch, going to get yourself killed. “But the Wyvern came after the others, from a different artist. Different time and different reason.” Don’t want to explain that one either, get back to the ship.
“We had a lot of days at sea sitting in the sun with very little wind.” Aliyah added quickly. “So, laying out, getting inked . . . it was fun.”
“And you were displaying your art.” Horatio noted.
“Yes, I suppose I was. It was intimate too, with the artist. We never had sex. But it was, it was almost more intimate than when I was having sex with Rakham, the guy who brought me on board.” More intimate for me maybe but not for Rakham.
“Sex isn't needed for art to be intimate.” Nisha added.
“And intimate with the readers as well, I'm sure, even if you never do.” Said Horatio. “I am thoroughly impressed, and not only a little enthralled.”
They talked awhile longer, mostly about Nisha’s beauty. It was a nice rapport. Then Horatio came back around to Aliyah’s tattoos once again.
“I have to wonder, that artist who inked your skin, so lovingly, so intimately. Does he dream every night of you? I can't imagine anything less, even if only dreaming up another idea, another reason for you to be his canvas again.”
“The artist? Who did this?” Aliyah asked. Horatio nodded. “He doesn’t dream of sh*t.” Aliyah replied bluntly. “He got his head cut off. Executed by the Syl-Pasha.”
“That is a waste.” Horatio replied.
“Well, I've said it before so I will say it again,” Aliyah answered with a bit of a growl, “if they’d have fought like men, they wouldn’t have died like dogs.”
“You have said it before?” Horatio asked. “I don't understand. This is not something I'm familiar with.”
Aliyah took a deep breath. “The ship I was on, the B*tch's Due, it was a pirate ship. Worked for the Rundeen sometimes, independent sometimes.”
“Then it was not a jest, you really are a pirate lass?” Horatio asked, eyes a bit wider now.
“It wasn’t a jest.” Aliyah admitted. Don’t tell them about the galley and the massacre. Don’t tell them about any of it. Just the aftermath.
“One morning, just around dawn, the Nallajol comes for us. The Nallajol is the Syl-Pasha's navy. So they find us at anchor. But the men had been drinking and smoking opium all night. Marianne and I tried to rouse them. We couldn't get the men up. Marianne and I tried to raise sail, but with just the two of us, we couldn't do that either. So, she grabbed a spear and I grabbed a scimitar and we tried to defend the ship. But .. I was what, 17? 18? I had never used a sword before. We fought but we got captured fast. The men of the crew? They never even put up a fight. Too wasted. So, they all lost their heads.”
Aliyah stopped, remembering the executions, the blood, the look on Rakham’s face and the final words he mouthed to her. She closed her eyes tight and tried to forget.
“F*ck 'em.” She said, pushing the memory away. She picked up her wine bottle and drank deeply.
The day’s events and the hot water eventually got the best of Horatio and he decided to sleep. He crawled out of the bath and lay down among the pillows.
After Horatio had nodded off, Nisha came closer and began to massage Aliyah’s neck and shoulders. Aliyah thought she was in for another cruel teasing, but this time, she was wrong.
Nisha took Aliyah right there in the bath, just a few feet away from where Horatio lay sleeping. The dark beauty slipped behind Aliyah in the warm waters and wrapped an arm around her waist. She kissed down Aliyah’s neck while her hands explored Aliyah’s body and breasts. When Aliyah’s hands tried to find Nisha’s sex, Nisha stopped her and put Aliyah’s hands on her own sex. After that, Aliyah was simply helpless in Nisha’s arms. The orgasm that followed nearly brought tears to Aliyah’s eyes. Nisha was every bit as talented with sex as she was with music, and she could play Aliyah just as well as she could play her flute.
Afterwards Aliyah wanted to talk about what this meant; were they together again? Was this a one-time thing? Was this a non-relationship relationship where they just had sex when Nisha wanted to? Aliyah did not know, and she wanted to know, but she did not say a thing. Instead she told herself to just enjoy the moment. Do what you want and enjoy what happened. Maybe Nisha will play with her again, maybe not. Maybe Nisha will tease and torture her again, maybe not. Maybe Nisha only did this because she was jealous of Kyrinil, maybe not. Maybe one or both of them will die in a bloody ambush tomorrow, maybe not.
So Aliyah had just smiled and tried to bask in the glow of a beautiful experience. Trying to force the two of them into some sort of normal relationship had proven disastrous. Neither of them was ready for it. On the other hand, the sex was fantastic for Aliyah, and she could not deny she still loved Nisha. She was also convinced that Nisha felt something real for Aliyah as well, something more than just hate or a need for revenge. Was it really love? Aliyah did not know - maybe, maybe not. But it was something. Enough that Nisha seemed jealous when Aliyah considered other lovers. Enough to talk to Aliyah about their relationship for hours. Enough that Nisha wanted to take Aliyah in the baths, and f*ck her until the ecstasy of the orgasm made Aliyah want to simply die in its throes.
But where did that leave Aliyah and Kyrinil?
It was not a question that Aliyah had answered yet when she saw Kyrinil getting into their wagon a day later and realized she was about to be trapped in a rolling wooden-crate between Nisha and Kyrinil for the entire trip to Nashkel. Kyrinil invited Aliyah to sit by her, but Aliyah just shook her head, and nodded towards Nisha.
“Are you ignoring me for Nisha?” Kyrinil asked in a whisper.
“Yes.” Aliyah whispered back. The sh*t-storm that followed gave Aliyah a headache that even opium could not completely alleviate.
**********************************************
“I want you to find, catch and bring back a dog.” Said the hooded man to Layla. “One that you like, one that looks strong and healthy. One that likes you.”
This was an odd assignment, Layla thought, but all the lessons outside of the training hall are odd assignments. The training hall was really just an arched hall in the Muzad, Calimport’s underground. At one end was the vestibule which led onto what was once a street, but which was now buried beneath modern Calimport. Along the sides of the training hall were arched cells where the students slept. At the far end of the training hall from the vestibule was the master’s chamber, also an arched hall but long and narrow, lined with shelves stocked with the tools of the trade; daggers, stilettos, kukri, short-swords, garrotes, alchemist’s fire, acid, poison, tanglefoot bags, caltrops and every other tool assassins could use in their lethal work.
Layla had not yet been allowed to touch any of the weapons. The hooded man made it clear that the first thing she had to learn was stealth, not fighting. “If I give you a blade now,” the hooded man said, “you will end up using it before you are ready and you will die. And dead students are of no use to me.”
So, instead of learning to cut, thrust and parry, she learned to hide, sneak and climb. She was good at it too; she had a natural aptitude for avoiding the attention of others. She realized she had been doing it for her most of her life, trying to avoid the attention of her grand-father, Dawoud.
She did not bother to ask further questions. She had learned enough from the hooded man that he said precisely what he meant to say; no more, no less. If she asked him what breed to bring back, her answer would be a back-handed slap across the face. If she asked if it was alright for her to steal the dog, the answer would be the same. She had all the information she needed for the assignment, and all the information she was going to get, so she turned and left. She also knew the other rule of these assignments; you returned successful, or you didn’t return. Life under the hooded man was harsh, but it was simple.
*************************
Ali’Hussein’s plan was simple, and he explained it as he, Nisha, and Aliyah took their places high up on a snowy slope overlooking the back side of a sharp-bend in the trail through the Cloud Peaks. When the Zhents and the wagon rounded the bend in the trail, he would hit them with an enchantment that would, hopefully, put them to sleep. Any of the Zhents not slept would then be killed by arrows and quarrels from Aliyah and Nisha respectively. If any of the enemy got through all of that, Ali’s panther would be waiting for them.
After the ambush that almost claimed Aliyah’s life, the crew had gone to the Iron Throne’s leader, in private, and told him their theory about a spy inside the Iron Throne. Now, nearly a month later, the Iron Throne had identified the spy, a mid-level caravan leader named Walder or Waldre or something to that effect. He was better known as ‘The Adder.” Unfortunately for him, he was on Aliyah’s list.
The Adder had taken an Iron Throne wagon south, and somewhere along the way, betrayed his own crew and turned the wagon over to the Zhents. Nisha, Ali’Hussein and Aliyah had tracked them from Baldur’s Gate, eventually catching up to them in Nashkell. There was no sign of the other Iron Throne caravaners; they were likely dead and buried somewhere along the road. The Adder, however, was still with the wagon, but now his crew consisted of two human Zhent soldiers and a massive half-orc.
Aliyah crouched in the weeds along the hillside, an arrow notched but not yet drawn. She could hear the heavy wooden wheels of the wagon squeaking as it came up the trail. Boots crunched in snow. The sounds grew louder and she could feel her heart picking up pace. A human Zhent came into view, followed by the half-orc and the wagon. The Adder rode on the wagon itself with a Zhent archer. Aliyah took aim at the archer and drew her arrow back. Behind her, Ali’Hussein intoned the words to his spell.
In happened fast. Ali's spell fired and the first two Zhents, including the huge half-orc, fell into the snow asleep. Aliyah'se nervousness and jitters were gone. A cold calmness settled over her as she let the first shaft loose. It struck the Zhent archer hard, badly wounding him. She was already drawing another arrow as Nisha’s first quarrel whipped past but the bolt went wide.
Before Aliyah could loose her next arrow, the Adder was off the wagon and charging up the slope, blade in hand. Aliyah dropped her bow and drew out her killing knife. The Adder ran past where she was crouching, intent on Ali’Hussein and his panther. Aliyah pounced on him as he went past, driving her blade down in an overhand grip through the man’s clavicle. When she pulled the blade free, steaming hot blood sprayed out and Aliyah knew the strike was fatal. The Adder fell into the snow and rolled down the hill, clutching in vain at his wound as his life spurted out in a crimson arterial spray.
Nisha loosed her second quarrel and this one found home, piercing the neck of the Zhent archer on the wagon. The man fell off the wagon, his blood staining the snow red just as the Adder's blood had.
Aliyah jumped and slid down the slope. Once on the trail, she fell mercilessly upon the two Zhents that Ali had slept, opening up both their throats before they could rise.
It was over. The whole ambush had taken less than thirty seconds and all four of the enemy were dead. Aliyah could not help but smile. She dipped two fingers in the blood of a dead Zhent and painted two bloody stripes across her face. The Adder, the mole, the spy inside the Iron Throne, was dead at Aliyah's hand. That was one person off her list. One task accomplished; one more soul paving her way to oblivion.
*****************************
“I caught one.” Layla said happily, a chubby yellow-haired mutt at her feet. “She’s obviously been eating well, she likes me and I like her.”
The hooded man knelt down and let the dog sniff his fist. The mutt took to him quickly. The hooded man made a quick but thorough examination of Layla’s prize.
“She’s not fat because she’s healthy, she’s fat because the bitch is pregnant.” He said. “She’ll throw a litter soon.”
Layla had not seen that. She did not really know much about dogs, but she tried to spin it into a positive. “Well good, then soon we’ll have more dogs for free. We won’t need to steal them.”
The hooded man stood, still looking at the mutt, then finally nodded. “Good. You did well.” He said finally. Layla felt an intense burst of pride and relief. Praise from the hooded man was a rare thing.
The hooded man took the rope that served as a leash from Layla and led the dog into his chamber at the rear of the training hall. Layla followed but the hooded man shut the door to his chamber in her face.
She was about to protest when she heard the dog yelp. Then there was nothing. A moment later the hooded man came out cleaning a bloody dagger with a rag.
“You bastard!” Layla yelled, striking out at the hooded man with her fists. The hooded man side-stepped her attack and stuck his foot out tripping her. After she fell he knelt down beside her.
“You know what it is I am. You know what it is you are training to be. What did you think was going to happen? That we would raise the mutt like some family living in a drudach beneath the light of the sun? This is the darkness child, and in the darkness resides death. That is what we do. That is who we are.” The hooded man stood, looking down on Layla who was starting to sob. “Why are you crying? For the dog? Why? It doesn’t even have a soul. You are training to be an assassin, a killer of men. They have souls. They have lives worth living. This was but a dog. A mutt. Barely more than a rat, living a pointless existence without a soul and about to give birth to another half-dozen-soulless creatures whose lives mean nothing.”
“Now get up,” he commanded. “You have another task. I want you to bring me another dog. This time a puppy. Something cute. Something adorable. And this time, since you know what is coming, there will be no tears. No sadness. This is what we do. If you can’t kill a soulless dog, how are you going to kill a man?”
Layla wiped her eyes and stood. She stared at the hooded man in anger for a long time but he did not relent or return her anger, he simply held her gaze. Eventually, seeing no crack in the emotionless wall of her master, Layla headed back out of the training hall to find a puppy.
*************************
After the ambush in the Cloud Peaks, Nisha, Ali’Hussein and Aliyah returned to Baldur’s Gate. There, the crew split up. Fearing repercussions from the ambush and seeking more work, Ali’Hussein joined Rain and the two boarded a ship headed north, intending to travel to Silverymoon to join Redara who was studying at the University there. Nisha and Aliyah stayed behind; the night that Ali and Rain boarded their ship, Nisha and Aliyah went to the bathhouse together.
This time there was no extended talk of tattoos or poetry; this time there was just Nisha and Aliyah having sex in the warm waters of a private bath. This time, Aliyah went down on Nisha and explored her lover’s sex as thoroughly as she dared. This time, it was Nisha screaming in ecstasy.
“I could kiss those lips forever.” Nisha said as she embraced Aliyah. Aliyah happily offered to let her.
“Come, I want to fall asleep kissing you.” Nisha said. The two women lay down among the pillows alongside the bath. They embraced and kissed, and eventually fell asleep in each other’s arms. It was the happiest moment of Aliyah’s life, but it was not to last.
*************************
“Kill it.” Said the hooded man holding out a knife for Layla to take. In her arms was a fat little puppy, another mutt, but this one was mottled brown and white. She took the knife without hesitation. She had already made her decision when she decided to return to the training hall. If she returned, she knew either the hooded man would kill the pup, or she would have to. If she returned, she had to do what she was ordered, or else she would be the one under the knife.
She could have run of course. It only took her a couple of hours to find and steal a cute little puppy on the streets, but she had been gone from the training hall for ten days. She had kept the puppy with her the whole time, debating whether to return or to flee. All she had to do was not return to the Muzad. She could stow away on another ship and get far from Calimport before the hooded man and the dancer knew she was gone. Day after day she did nothing but live on the street with the puppy, stealing food, walking the wharf during the day and sleeping in alleys at night. She did not flee, and she did not return. Eventually, she realized that she was waiting for the hooded man to come find her, to make her decision for her. If he came and dragged her back to the Muzad, it would not really be her fault about the puppy. But after ten days, she realized the hooded man was not going to come after her. This was her test; if she returned, she would be one of them. If she fled, then they were rid of a student who could not do what they needed her to do. She wanted to flee; she wanted to leave the city and raise the pup and go live somewhere else. Someplace far from Calimshan.
But then how would she kill Dawoud? How would she kill Shyk Hassan? How could she free her father, mother, brother and sisters from Dawoud’s iron grip? She needed the hooded man to train her. She needed to know how to kill. So, after ten days on the streets, she returned to the darkness of the training hall.
“Kill it.” Said the hooded man. Layla took the knife from the hooded man’s hands and cut the puppy’s throat. That was how murderer’s did it in the stories; they cut throats.
The puppy, however, did not simply die. It yelped and squirmed and fought to get free. It fought to live. Layla lost her grip and the puppy fell but she grabbed it by the rope leash and straddled it with her knees. She tried cutting its throat again. There was blood and an awful wheezing noise, but the puppy was still not dead. Desperate, tears in her eyes, she brought the knife down as hard as she could right on the puppy’s spine at the base of its skull. She heard bone crunch and realized she had closed her eyes. She twisted the knife and there was more crunching. She was crying now, but the puppy had stopped moving. She had never felt so bad in all her life.
“You’re a monster.” Said the hooded man. “A perfect, soulless little monster.”
Layla frowned, choking back tears. “Wha…what?”
“Look at what you’ve done.” The hooded man said. “You killed a defenseless, harmless little puppy. What kind of creature kills a puppy? A monster, that’s what. You’re a monster to take life of such an innocent soul.”
“Soul?” Layla exclaimed. “You said they had no souls, and you did it first!” Layla yelled, her tears turning to anger. “You killed that pregnant dog and all its puppies with it. That makes you ten times the monster I am!”
The hooded man reached down and grabbed Layla’s wrist with a powerful calloused hand. A memory stirred in her somewhere, but she did not have the mental discipline to bring back the recollection. The hooded man dragged her into his chamber at the back of the training hall, past the shelves of knives and daggers, swords and axes, potions, poisons, and alchemists fire, past the bags of caltrops and tanglefoot, past his own bunk and chest, to the very back wall where there was a wooden door set into an arch.
“Open it.” He said, letting loose his grip on her wrist.
She could hear the sounds coming from behind the wooden door but she didn’t want to believe them.
“Open it!” The hooded man commanded.
She opened it. Behind the wooden doors was an arched tunnel, perhaps four feet high by three feet wide and maybe eight to ten feet long. A relic of whatever this place used to be when it was part of the city proper. Inside the tunnel was a nest of straw and wool blankets, and inside the nest, was the yellow b*tch. She lay on her side, with five little pups suckling at her teats. They were so young their eyes had not opened yet.
“I’d never kill a dog like you did.” The hooded man said. “Look at that, look at that mother b*tch and her pups and you tell me they don’t have souls. I didn’t kill the dog you gave me, I stuck my dagger in a side of a fresh goat I was going to prepare for dinner, and then came out wiping off the blood. A simple trick. I’d never kill a dog like that. Especially a dog as good as you picked. I plan on keeping the b*tch and raising at least one of those pups myself. The others I will find homes for. Other students perhaps. Killing them would be a waste, not to mention a monstrous act.”
Layla was crying hysterically, clutching her hands to the pain in her chest. It felt like a piece of her soul was being ripped out with every word from the hooded man.
“That b*tch and those pups, they have more soul than you ever will.” The hooded man continued. “You’re a monster.” The hooded man knelt down and pet the nursing mother affectionately. “Truth be told child, it was hard watching you kill that puppy. Men? Yes, many if not most men deserve the death we bring. But a dog? An innocent puppy? A pregnant bitch? Not hardly.”
Suddenly Layla stopped crying. The pain in her chest was overwhelmed by something else; raw, unadulterated fury. She stood and scrambled away from the hooded man. From the shelf along the wall she grabbed a knife and threw it at him. The blade went wide, not even close to its target.
“Stop it.” The hooded man said simply as he stood. “Enough of this tantrum.”
Layla grabbed a green glass vial from the shelf and hurled it. This time the hooded man actually had to duck aside to avoid getting splashed with acid as the glass broke against the wall.
“Enough!” He yelled, annoyance and frustration growing in his voice.
But Layla did not listen, she grabbed a red glass vial this time and turned to throw it. The hooded man saw what she was reaching for and ran for the exit.
“Go ahead child. Throw it.” He called from the doorway. “That’s alchemist’s fire. You won’t hit me, but it will explode between you and the door, and you’ll be the one who burns, or suffocates. Either way, its your own death you’re holding child.”
Growling with anger, Layla reluctantly held her throw. The hooded man was right. The chamber was too narrow; if she threw the fire it would explode between her and the exit and she’d never escape.
An angry calm settled over her like nothing she had ever felt before. She stood straight, staring at the hooded man in the door for a moment. The expression on her face must have given him pause for he said nothing more, he just stood there looking at her, silent and still. She turned from her master and walked to the back of the room. She opened the door to the short tunnel where the bitch was still feeding her newborns, and without a moment of hesitation, she threw the alchemist’s fire into the tunnel. She kicked the wooden door shut as the flames exploded, and let the latch fall into place. On the other side of the door came an unreal shrieking as mother and pups burned.
Layla turned to face the hooded man with murder in her eye. The hooded man raced towards the back of the chamber and tried in vain to open the wooden door even though he knew it was pointless. Red flames licked through cracks in the wood as the door itself began to burn. The hooded man retrieved a mace from the shelves and bashed in the burning portal, but it was far too late. Mother and pups lay still in the fire, their bodies quickly being consumed by the unnatural flame.
The hooded man turned on Layla, who stood her ground. She held no weapon and wore no armor, but she did not run. She just stared at him with hateful eyes and a broken soul.
*************************
Aliyah awoke in the bathhouse, sprawled out naked amidst the pillows. She stood and looked around the chamber, still groggy from the sleep and wine. Nisha was nowhere to be seen, and her gear was gone as well. She had left Aliyah again. This time Aliyah did not think much of it. Nisha might have gotten hungry, or she may have just had other things to do. Or perhaps she did not want Aliyah thinking that they were back together; this un-relationship relationship they were having was working out better than the actual relationship. Aliyah had not slept with anyone else since talking to Nisha that evening by the guard house along the wharf, when she had told Nisha her real name. Nisha did not ask Aliyah to abstain from other women, and infact, encouraged it from time to time, but Aliyah had decided that what she wanted was not some other woman, but Nisha. Aliyah hoped that voluntarily remaining faithful, even when it was not called for, would help persuade Nisha to try the relationship again. Or at least, to continue the un-relationship relationship they were having.
It was a vain hope.
In her satchel Aliyah found a potion bottle and a letter. The potion she recognized; she had one of her own and it was very expensive.
She took a deep breath. Should she read the letter now? Or should she get dressed first? She felt more secure in her leathers, and more vulnerable naked . . . but this was something she was going to face without defenses. She knew the letter was bad. She knew it was a fresh heartbreak. Why pretend it wasn’t?
She dropped her gear and sat down with her back against the wall, naked save for her belly chain and boots. She unfolded the letter and began to read.
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“How is she?” The dancer asked the hooded man again. “Did you kill her conscience?”
“As with all things, there is good and there is bad.” The hooded man replied.
“Tell me the bad first this time.” The dancer replied.
“I could not kill her conscience. Not entirely. It is wounded, perhaps dying, but not yet dead.”
The dancer frowned. “What is the good news then?”
“The good news is that it doesn’t matter.” Said the hooded man.
“Why not?”
“Because,” the hooded man explained, “her anger is stronger. I have never seen such anger in a girl. Feed the anger, and the conscience becomes irrelevant.”
The dancer smiled. "I heard she burned your bitch and pups alive."
"Yes," the hooded man said uncomfortably, "she burned them mistress."
"Venegeance is a beautiful thing." The dancer said merrily. "Makes us careful about what we sew, lest we reap a harvest we do not want."
**************************
In the Baldur’s Gate bathhouse, Aliyah sat naked, reading Nisha’s letter.
Aliyah’s eyes were wet but she did not cry. She leaned her head back against the wall and stared across the chamber at nothing. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream and she wanted to chase after Nisha and she wanted to …Aliyah,
First, I want to apologize for writing this letter instead of saying these words to you in person, but I felt it was necessary for not only my future endeavors, but yours as well. As you already know, I have been doing a lot of thinking about my life in Calimshan and my life here with the crew. As much as I appreciate what I have learned and how I have grown, I cannot deny that my time away from Calimshan is over. I do want you to know that I have seriously considered staying; for your benefit, as I know you have professed your love for me and your desire to be with me.
As I have said to you numerous times, I will not change. The truth of the matter is: I could have changed… But I don’t want to. Normally, when I am involved with someone and the relationship becomes work, I leave, and when I leave, I don’t come back. When it came to us, I did come back, even after I ended things, which tells me that I could have truly loved you and made that commitment you wanted. But I didn't make that commitment, something kept holding me back, no matter how many times I kissed you or lied in bed with you, I couldn't give you what you wanted. I know now why I couldn't, because as much as I could have changed, I could not forgive you for what you did. You cheated on me and you could never make me a priority like I wanted. For that, I could never change.
I have decided to return home. I cannot see myself playing music for these savage nobles or whoring my music out in inns, as the musicians do in the north. I will once again perform for Sultans but now, I have more to offer, and that is thanks to you and the crew. I am proud to say that I have learned that I can fight with as much excitement and dedication as I do when I make beautiful music. What I want for my future I cannot find in these lands and I won’t fool myself any longer in believing that I can. I must go where the inspiration is and that is Calimshan.
I am sure you are not of mind to listen to my advice, but I hope that you will read this letter more than once, and eventually hear and understand these words as I mean them. You deserve better than what you have. I mean, you deserve better than who you choose to keep company with in your bed. My advice to you is that if you want something, you go after it, but only it. You cannot desire a commitment and not keep one yourself.
As I do not have much time to write more than this letter before I sail back home, I ask that you tell his highness that I appreciated his wisdom and leadership. Please also tell Rain that I enjoyed our late night talks most of all. I wish you success on your list. Remember that revenge is best served when you yourself are doing better than your victim.
If you ever find a reason or need to write to me, you can send me a letter to the temple of Milil in Calimport. I will eventually receive it there.
Nisha
She choked it all back, rather than let go of the pain. She tasted it, reveled in it, and let it wash over her. She tried to feel those missing parts of her soul, and when she couldn't feel them, she tried to fill them with the pain of this heartache.
Now you have your revenge Nisha. I hope it makes you happy. You always said the best revenge was living better than the one who wronged you. I have no doubt you will live a better life than I do.
Unexpectedly, a part of Aliyah was actually happy. She never thought Nisha should be down here with the rest of the killers, hunting for an early death. Killers were cheap and common; Nisha’s beauty and talent were special. Now, she was where that beauty and talent would be most appreciated, and more importantly, she was far, far away from the crew. Far, far away from the mud and the blood and the early graves most of them would find.
Still, Aliyah felt a little piece of what was left of her soul wither and die. This was, however, just the latest loss in a long line of losses: father and mother; the first trade ship; her brothers and sisters; the hooded man, the dancer and the temple; the B*tch’s Due and Rakham; so many things lost and with each one went a piece of herself.
Fine. If that’s what it takes, then so be it. I will reap what I sew. Let the darkness grow. Let the hate subsume the rest. Feed the anger.
Anger at Dawoud. Anger at Shyk-Hassan. Anger at the dancer, the hooded man and the temple. Anger at Rakham. Anger at the Syl-Pasha and all the smug nobles. Anger at the wizards.
Anger at Nisha.
But above all other things . . .
Anger at myself.
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In the dour ages
Of drafty cells and draftier castles,
Of dragons breathing without the frame of fables,
Saint and king unfisted obstruction’s knuckles
By no miracle or majestic means,
But by such abuses
As smack of spite and the overscrupulous
Twisting of thumbscrews: one soul tied in sinews,
One white horse drowned, and all the unconquered pinnacles
Of God’s city and Babylon’s
Must wait, while here Suso’s
Hand hones his tack and needles,
Scouraging to sores his own red sluices
For the relish of heaven, relentless, dousing with prickles
Of horsehair and lice his horny loins;
While there irate Cyrus
Squanders a summer and the brawn of his heroes
To rebuke the horse-swallowing River Gyndes:
He split it into three hundred and sixty trickles
A girl could wade without wetting her shins.
Still, latter-day sages,
Smiling at this behavior, subjugating their enemies
Neatly, nicely, by disbelief or bridges,
Never grip, as the grandsires did, that devil who chuckles
From grain of the marrow and the river-bed grains.
- Sylvia Plath, A Lesson in Vengeance